Surviving life takes honesty, to know when your mind and body need a break. It takes gumption, to get off your tail and to go find solace when you need it. It takes wisdom,Ā to know what places and what people will replenish you. And like everything that ends well, it takes a little magic. Anyone who tells you there isn’t magic, simply hasn’t found any yet. The world is full of magic, you just need to know where to find it.
Fernando replenishes me and Savannah holds my magic.
Walking along the river’s edge my tired feet carry me and the weight of my heavy heart. One step at a time, putting one foot before the next, I am reminded that this is just what I needed to do.
The lapping of the small waves and the glistening of the setting sun on the water’s surface sends waves of comfort into my soul. Like the rocking of the tides, my head is devoid of thoughts and then flooded again. Alternating between the welcome absence of thought and the inevitable pining and searching for inspiration and support, I see the river as a beautiful woman. Standing alone, she appears massive and exudes power and strength. Like a warrior upon a cliff with her wild hair whipping in the wind, her presence tells the land around her that she rules here. No one, nothing, can conquer her.
But in just a moment and a turn of one’s head, an enormous container ship makes its way down the waterway and the massive river appears small and overwhelmed. She is dwarfed by the load passing over her and it appears as though it will smother her. Don’t be fooled. She is still a warrior. With grace and beauty she carries that ship on her back, shouldering the weight of every burden that she is given. It is then that you see her true strength. Summoning my inner-warrior, my soul becomes one with the river.
While my soul is immersed in the water that runs along beside me, my feet carry me away from the water’s edge and find a new surface on which to tread. This path is a familiar one. My beautiful ‘River Street’ is paved in cobblestone. I love cobblestone.
As my eyes move from the water’s surface to the path ahead of me, I examine the stones laid before me. A magical passageway, each ancient stone cut by hand … none of them the same as the one beside it. Each one holds the markings of a hard day’s work and the weight of centuries. I am reminded that the most beautiful things in life are the ones that are not like the others. No one stops to admire the bricks of a modern building- stones that are cut by machines, each one designed to look just like the next, lined up, perfectly uniform and just the way they were intended to be from the start. There is no inspiration found in artificial perfection.
So why do we yearn for flawlessness when our hearts are always drawn to imperfect beauty?
My feet work harder to carry me over the uneven stones and I feel unsteady. Yet I welcome the journey. These stones inspire me. They hold their position, still standing strong after years of being tread upon, beaten by harsh weather and saturated by floods. For years, horse hooves clopped upon them, wagon wheels and trolley cars rode them hard and leather,Ā hand-sewn shoes and hard boots walked over them, day-in and day-out, wearing their once sharp edges smooth. And despite its scars, still, it bears the burden and provides passage to those who come to the river.
Even the trees here, ancient and draped in moss, like a wizard, exude wisdom from the years they’ve survived. Thick with stories only their roots can tell and strength from carrying the weight of the epiphytic plants that adorn them, the great oaks comfort me.
Like the wave of a magic wand, a stroll down these streets assures me that my feet, though still tired, and my heart, only slightly less heavy now, too, will carry the load that it is given … with roots that run deep and branches that provide shelter, one step, one lapping wave at a time.
I am thankful for my honesty, my wisdom, my gumption … but most of all … today, I am thankful for the magic of Savannah.
